I
have known a lot of people in the film world but I have little interest
in films. For the last 30 years or so, I have not been to a cinema house
nor watched films on TV. I confess I had a false sense of superiority
over men and women who made millions acting before movie cameras. I
envied the acclaim they got from the masses but did not think much of
their craft. After I got to know Kishwar and her husband Lord Meghnad
Desai, I realised I was wrong. He made me understand that cinema had a
powerful impact on the way Indians think and act, their speech and their
values. Anyone who ignored it could not hope to understand his
countrymen.

Not only has the
southern half of India been ruled by men and women from the film
industry, it has representation in Parliament, and is a powerful force
to garner votes during elections. So reluctant as I was to read Kishwar’s
biography of Nargis Dutt, Darlingji: The True Life Story of Nargis
and SunilDutt (Harper-Collins), I did so. I enjoyed reading
it because it is well-written and learnt more about people I had kept at
a distance.

Nargis: Queen of Hearts

Nargis was among the
filmstars I got to know during my years in Bombay. I had seen her in Mother
India. It had made her India’s sweetheart number one. She had
married Sunil Dutt who had played the role of her son. It could be
described as the living version of Oedipus complex—-mother and son
love relationship. She had a long-going affair with Raj Kapoor, but once
married to Sunil, she became a devoted wife and never looked back.

Her mother Jaddanbai
was Muslim; so nominally was Nargis. I knew she was a frequent visitor
to the Hindu ashram in Ganeshpuri which I visited more than once. The
man she married was a Punjabi Mohyal Brahmin. Since she spoke Punjabi
fluently, I assumed she was a Punjabi. I was wrong. She was Uttar-Pradeshi
and picked up Punjabi after her marriage. I have written about our first
meeting. I repeat it as it remains embedded in my mind.

It was sometime in the
late 1970s. The Dutts were going through a lean period in their acting
careers. Their children, including Sanjay, were in Lawrence School,
Sanawar, across the hill from Kasauli where I have a villa. Nargis and
Sunil wanted to be present at the Founder’s Day of the school. Rather
than stay in a hotel, they asked a common friend Gulshan Ewing, Editor
of Femina, to ask me if they could stay in my bungalow. A meeting was
set up.
Nargis arrived at The Times of India building. Everyone from the
peons to Editors of different journals and the managerial staff
recognised her. Their unbelieving eyes watched her as she walked into my
office. We shook hands. She looked very demure as she made her request.
I blurted out: , you can stay in my home, but on one condition".

"What
condition?" she asked nervously. "Thereafter, I have your
permission to tell everyone you slept in my bed". She burst into a
peal of happy laughter and put out her hand and said:"Haath
laiye"(give me your hand). We clasped hands. And became old
friends.

After she returned from
Kasauli, she came to my flat to thank me. I recall on her way back home,
we stopped at a paanwalla’s shop. Once again everyone passing
by recognised her. Two men gaped at her; one said loudly in Gujarati:
"Sunil Dutt ni joroochhe". Nargis rewarded them
with a torrent of choicest abuse in Punjabi for using the word joroo.

We were nominated to
Rajya Sabha at the same time and allotted seats next to each other.
Members made a beeline to meet her. When some tried to introduce me to
her, she said: "You don’t have to introduce me to him. I’ve
slept in his bed".

One exchange she made
with a member of the Opposition I can never forget. There was a case of
a brutal gangrape reported in all the papers. This lady who happened to
be short, plump and very dark was blaming the government for its failure
to protect women. Nargis shouted back: "Why are you so worried?
Nobody is ever going to rape you". There was a burst of laughter.
The poor lady was crushed to silence. I wondered whether calling a woman
not rape-worthy was unparliamentary. I am also not sure whether it was
recorded in the proceedings.

I happened to be in New
York when Nargis was in hospital being treated for cancer. I wanted to
call on her. She refused to see me. Chemotherapy had deprived her of her
hair and reduced her to a skeleton. She wanted to be remembered as a
beautiful woman. Soon after she died. Her body was flown back to Bombay.
She was given a Muslim burial.

This is hardly a review
of Kishwar Desai’s book. All I can say in apology is that it brought
Nargis back into my life.

Benazir’s return

What do we make of her
million-strong rally?

Will Benazir’s return
herald democracy in her country?

Or is Benazir-in-power
a recipe for corrupt autocracy?

Is she really brave or
bold?
Or has she her freedom already sold?

Will she actually fight
extremist forces?

Or use them merely as
her horses?

Will there be no gap
between her word and deed?

Is her mind towards
India changed, indeed?

Will she be as good as
she would seem?

Will she hand over to
India Dawood Ibrahim?

Who is a better bet,
Musharraf or she?

Or the two of them
jointly?

Or is the question
silly? Finally, will Benazir a place in history find?